


Payback's Fair Enough

by zanoranna (rei_c)



Series: striker!otp [3]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Biting, Bruises, Fights, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex, Scratching, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/zanoranna
Summary: Fernando thought that since secret's not-so-secret, things would change. At first they don't.
Relationships: Fernando Torres/David Villa
Series: striker!otp [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671553
Kudos: 2





	Payback's Fair Enough

Fernando's phone goes off in his pocket. He frowns and holds up one hand interrupting Sergio's spiel on sunglasses and whether the white pair in his right hand looks better with his new jeans than the black pair in his left hand goes with his t-shirt. Sergio rolls his eyes but leans back and watches as Fernando takes out his phone. 

_almost at the airport - don't do anything stupid_

"What the hell," Fernando mutters, before sending a text back to David, saying exactly the same thing. 

"Problems?" Sergio asks, leaning forward again, one eyebrow raised and a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. If there's one thing Sergio likes talking about more than new clothes, it's gossip. 

Fernando sighs and shakes his head, rubbing his eyes as well. "No. At least, I don't think so." 

He's exhausted, still; Fernando had been hoping that the end of the season would mean the end of his insomnia but it hasn't. On top of that, Leo's been keeping him and Olalla up at night -- every night. Fernando's used to the lack of sleep more than Olalla, and it isn't like he's actually _sleeping_ every time Leo starts crying, so he gets up and spends most of the night with his son. Fernando's just about reached the point where he wants to _die_ if it means he'll get rest.

"Anyway, I think the black pair looks better," Fernando finally says, snapping his attention back to the conversation. "I mean, I like them better." 

That sends Sergio off again, though not without a sharp-eyed look at Fernando. Not for the first time, Fernando is relieved that Sergio knows him so well, well enough to let it go -- at least for now. 

It's only a few minutes before David saunters into the lounge where they're all waiting. He's arrived with Silva and the two of them go over to join the heap of Barcelona players over by the window. David doesn't even glance over at where Fernando's sitting. 

It stings. It's always been like this, keeping things secret, but after Cesc, after the Champions League final, Fernando thought things would change. 

Apparently he's wrong. 

//

It's a long plane ride. Fernando sits with Xabi, like normal, who either hasn't heard about Cesc or doesn't care; he talks about his family and asks about Fernando's holiday plans then falls asleep. Busquets and Geri are behind them and Geri can't seem to look at Fernando's face, much less meet his eyes. He's never had a problem before; apparently he wasn't as cool with everything as Cesc said he was. Sergio's in the back with Pepe, Victor, and Andres, and it sounds as though they're having a party, loud and laughing. 

Fernando wants to join them but David is back there as well. 

At first Fernando was hurt, now he's just pissed off. Everyone apparently knows about them and it's not like Fernando wanted to fuck in the airport, but a wave, a hug, even a damn acknowledgement of his existence would have been nice. David's possessive and territorial and about as good as a three-year-old on a sugar-high when it comes to sharing; Fernando knew all of this before they even began whatever it is they've been doing. David's still acting _stupid_ , though. Fernando doesn't want David to _share_ him with anyone, but a public display of that possessive territorial insanity would have been nice.

It's not like there's a secret to keep, anymore.

//

By the time they arrive in Boston, Fernando's worked himself up into a seething rage, he's hungry, and there's no one word for how tired he is, though he would quite happily kill someone to be able to stretch out in a bed and sleep for more than an hour. Barring that, he'd take a hot shower and clean pyjamas, or even awake but eating. In no particular order, he wants a shower, a raw and bloody steak, and a pillow, and he wants to be left alone. Instead, they have a bus ride to Providence before he can have any space. 

Thankfully the ride goes fast; Fernando sits next to Xabi, again, and manages to drift off a handful of times, each for only a few minutes. He spends about a quarter of the trip sleeping; the rest of the trip, Fernando looks out of the window and watches America flash by. 

//

Their hotel in Providence seems nice enough and some of the staff come out to greet them. Fernando wishes he cared enough to be nice and polite but his legs are aching and his eyes are gritty; he wants to _die_.

Xabi knows him well enough by now, after all these years, to give Fernando one look and say, "Cesc and Titi spent the night in town. I'm going out with Iker and Xavi to meet them for breakfast. Get some sleep." 

Xabi always has been the smart one. 

Fernando gets the room key from del Bosque and lugs his bag and Xabi's up to their room. He unlocks the door, opens it, and glares at David. "I don't want to see you right now," Fernando says. "Get out." 

"Fernando," David says, standing up from where he'd been sitting on the bed, hands held out in front of him. "What the hell." He looks just as exhausted as Fernando feels. Good.

"Get. Out," Fernando says, practically snarling. He enters his room -- _his_ room, damn it -- and drops Xabi's bag off at the first bed, then his at the foot of the second. David hasn't moved, so Fernando turns around and says, "I'll leave if you don't. Get out. Now." 

David's expression is half frown, half glare, and for a moment, he looks as if he's about to argue. Fernando takes one step towards the door and David says, "Fine, all right, I'll go. But we'll talk later." 

"Fuck you," Fernando says. "And fuck talking. Just. Just get out." The anger's gone, now, and all that's left in its place is the bone-deep exhaustion that Fernando's been feeling for eighteen months. 

For a split-second, Fernando thinks that David's going to argue with him. He's not sure if he _wants_ David to argue with him, whether that would prove something or if it would make things worse. 

David doesn't argue, though, doesn't snap back or say anything. David just leaves. 

Fernando sits down on the edge of his bed, stares at the closed door, and can't decide if he should go after David or not. 

He lays down and falls asleep. 

//

A knock on the door rouses Fernando from a dizzied, jet-lagged sleep. He sits up, head spinning, and says, "Come in." 

"I don't have a key, idiot," Xabi replies. 

Fernando can tell that Xabi's joking, knows he'd see Xabi smiling if they were standing face to face. Like this, though, and so soon after waking up, the 'idiot' rankles. He gets up, goes to the door, opens it. Xabi is standing there and, even after a transatlantic flight, wearing the same clothes for hours upon hours, he looks _great_. 

Fernando hates him, just a teensy bit. 

It's not Xabi's fault, though, and Fernando's feeling too sluggish to hold on to any feeling besides fatigue for long. He gives Xabi a sleepy smile, rubs his eyes, and asks, "How's Cesc?" Xabi raises an eyebrow. Fernando flushes, every visible inch of him. "Um. And, uh. Thierry?" 

"Cesc is fine," Xabi says, brushing past Fernando. He sits on his bed with a sigh, kicks his shoes off and then peels off his socks. "A little guilty that he feels relieved he wasn't called up for this game, to be honest. Oh, and he wanted me to tell you hello." Fernando flushes again, deeper this time, and Xabi asks, "Are you going to tell me what happened between you two?" 

Fernando gapes. "But you're. Sergio and Iker, and I thought." 

Xabi smiles, leans backwards and pillows his hands under his head. "I know something happened, but not the specifics, 'Nando. Are you going to tell me?" 

"No," Fernando says, once his brain's kickstarted again. He never thought Iker and Sergio would keep something like that from Xabi, of all people. "Not unless Cesc agrees." 

Xabi nods, just once, as if he expected that response. "Iker knows, though?" Fernando nods. Xabi sighs as if he expected that answer and says, "No doubt he helped convince Cesc." 

Fernando's eyes narrow. "Sometimes I think you must know _everything_ ," he tells Xabi. 

"Not everything," Xabi says, grinning. "But enough." The grin fades as he asks, "Have you had a chance to talk to David? I left you some room and I thought maybe he'd." 

Xabi stops mid-sentence, though whether it's at the growl that comes out of Fernando's throat or the thunderous scowl on his face, Fernando doesn't know -- doesn't know and doesn't care. The lassitude he was feeling at having _four whole hours_ of sleep has disappeared completely and the seething anger from before has returned with a vengeance, white-hot and raging with fresh energy.

"You _knew_?" Fernando asks. "This whole time, since, when, since 2008, you _knew_ and you didn't say anything to me? We were on the same fucking team, Xabi. We shared a locker room. I fucking _covered_ for you and Stevie, and you _knew_ and you didn't tell me?" 

The second Xabi opens his mouth, Fernando holds up one hand. "No," he says. "No, I can't. I can't do this right now. You just. Everyone. Did you think it was funny? To watch me sneak around, to try and hide this, to hear me try and lie to you? You _knew_ about me and David and you didn't tell me, just watched me make a fool of myself, over and over and over again." 

"Fernando," Xabi says, sitting up now, giving Fernando his best 'listen-to-me' face, the one that Fernando's always listened to, always respected. 

Not now. Not anymore. 

"You could have told me that you knew, Xabi," Fernando says, the heat gone from his voice as his anger has grown cold, now, and turned so very deep. Iker and Geri, fine, Sergio, well, they'll talk about that eventually, but Xabi? Somehow, knowing that Xabi was in on this mass pretence hurts more than anything else. "I might have been angry at first but I would've calmed down. I wanted to talk to you about this. I wanted to know how you dealt with it. I wanted to come to you for advice. I wanted _so much_ to talk to you about it. But I didn't think you knew and I have never told secrets that weren't mine and mine alone to tell. All those times, and you _knew_ , and said _nothing_." 

Fernando looks at Xabi, knows his expression is filled with disgust and wouldn't do a thing to change it, not even as Xabi's looking back at him as if Fernando's struck him. Xabi lifts up a hand, as if to plead for a chance to explain, or time, or patience, but Fernando isn't having any of it. He wants to leave, wants to go anywhere that isn't here, because there's no one he can trust. 

Everyone knew. 

It hadn't hurt like this before. Yes, he was shocked when Cesc told him, and he was pissed off when he brought it up with David, but he almost _expected_ something like this from David. He knew what he was getting into, would have been an idiot not to, so from David, the secrets are something that Fernando puts up with and, occasionally, even finds endearing. 

But he's had time to think about it, to stew on it, and this is the first time that he's had a chance to be with his team, his friends. It's the first chance he's had to look at their faces, to meet their eyes, to talk to them, and to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that each and every one of them has known, for _years_ , that he and David have been whatever they are. How many times has he thought they'd been talking and smiling with him, and been wrong? How many times did they _look_ at him and laugh at him for keeping a secret that he didn't have to? How many times have they looked at him and known and thought him an idiot?

Fernando has been hiding it since the beginning -- and it was entirely unnecessary. 

"Fernando," Xabi says again. 

"No!" Fernando shouts. He takes a deep breath, says, " _No_. I can't do this. I can't. I just have to." 

He leaves his room, first, then the floor, then the hotel, going out into Providence, not caring who sees him or where he ends up. He just needs to get _away_.

//

Fernando manages to get out of the hotel without anyone noticing him -- a minor miracle. Once outside, he looks right and sees the highway, so he goes left and stumbles upon a park not two streets away. It's small -- he can see the other side of it from here -- but quiet, which is exactly what he needs. He walks around the park, finally sits down at a bench and breathes in the air. 

Providence, at least this part of Providence, has that underlying smell of generic city that all of them seem to, but the rest of it is new. It doesn't smell like Liverpool or London, definitely not Madrid, and it isn't bad but it isn't _home_. Fernando aches to be at home with Olalla, even if it means putting up with Nora's incessant pleas to play with Zaida and Grecia and with Leo's two-am crying spells and four-am feedings. There's a certain sense of comfort, of simplicity, when it comes to his family; Fernando has always treasured that. 

His phone keeps vibrating in his pocket; Fernando ignores it and, two hours after he's left the hotel, turns it off entirely without even looking at his messages. He wants to say he doesn't care who's trying to reach him but he does. He wants it to be David, with an apology, but Fernando knows he'll never get one. David doesn't _do_ apologies. 

//

Two hours turns into three, then four. Fernando's stomach starts to remind him that his last meal was on the aeroplane and wasn't even that good. Thankfully, he has his wallet with him and there are a few dollars wedged in the back, courtesy of del Bosque's incessant mother-henning. Fernando gets up, wanders south-ish, following a crush of businessmen and a few slow-moving students. No one gives him a second look as he walks with his hands shoved in his pockets; it's a pleasant change from England and Spain, where it seems everyone knows his face and wants to talk to him and take pictures. 

There's a shop not too far away. It says 'diner' out front but it isn't like any of the dingy, run-down places that Fernando's seen on American shows. He's not sure what the distinction is, what makes this a diner and not a small restaurant, but he doesn't ask, just sits down and asks for a coffee when the waitress comes by. 

The coffee is strong and hot, almost burns his mouth when he sips at it. It warms something inside of him that feels cold and numb. He downs the entire cup in minutes, nods gratefully when the waitress offers him a refill. 

"Sure you don't want something to eat?" she asks him, one eyebrow raised. "You look like you could use a good meal, something to put a little meat on those bones of yours." 

"Maybe some soup?" Fernando half-asks. 

The waitress grins, says, "Now I _know_ you're not from around here. The rest of us are downing ice like you wouldn't believe, but here you are, drinking coffee and asking for soup." Fernando flushes, opens his mouth, and she laughs, says, "I'm just teasing, sweetie. Soups today, let's see. Chicken noodle, chili, veggie, and clam chowder. What sounds good?" 

"Vegetable," Fernando says. "Please." 

"I'll be right back with that," she says, and winks before she turns and heads back to the counter. 

She seems nice enough and it's quiet in here, apart from the whirring of the fans and the hushed conversations that a few people are having half a dozen tables away. It's otherwise empty, though, and the reminder of people without having to interact with them, without having to talk or explain or pretend to be awake enough to care, is just what Fernando needs. 

The waitress drops off the soup, refills his water glass, and leaves with a smile, telling him to yell if he needs her. Fernando nods, picks up his spoon, and tries the soup. It's rich and sweet, beans and chunks of carrots floating in the broth. His stomach growls and Fernando remembers that he'd been hungry enough to eat a horse only a few hours ago. Funny what anger will do to a person. 

He eats slowly, savouring the soup, and almost pouts when it's gone and he's reached the bottom of the bowl. 

"Can I get you another, sweetie?" the waitress asks, stopping by Fernando's table. 

"No, thank you," Fernando says. 

"Yes, please," Xabi says. Fernando looks up, scowling, his good mood gone just like that. "Actually, one for him and one for me? 'Nando's notoriously tough to impress when it comes to soup."

The waitress beams and nods. "Two bowls, coming right up. I'll get you a glass of water as well, hon." 

Xabi slides down into the booth across from Fernando. He's wearing different clothes and looks rested; Fernando feels like an immature child compared to Xabi, always has. 

"What are you doing here, Xabi?" Fernando asks, arms crossed over his chest as he speaks in a quiet Spanish. 

"David was getting worried," Xabi replies. At Fernando's raised eyebrow, Xabi says, "He was growling. He even told del Bosque that he didn't care if he didn't get to play on Saturday if that was the price of coming out to find you."

That makes Fernando feel the slightest bit better. David loves to play, especially with the national team; it's a threat he's used before, but only sparingly. "Why isn't he here, then, instead of you?" Fernando asks, lifting his chin slightly.

Xabi smiles, shakes his head. "He doesn't speak a word of English, Fernando. He wanted to come but I convinced him to wait at the hotel."

"No one can convince David to do anything he doesn't want to," Fernando says.

"They can if two defenders and two keepers are holding him down," Xabi says with a smile.

Fernando stares at Xabi, can't quite believe it but almost wants to laugh at the mental image. "Sergio has to be one of them," Fernando says, half a question.

"Along with Geri, Iker, and Pepe," Xabi says. "I'm sure you can imagine how pissed off at him Pepe is." Fernando grins, can't help it; David must _hate_ it. "You were right, you know," Xabi goes on to say. "I should have told you I knew. I just. I didn't realise that you were still -- that you believed it was still a secret. 'Nando, you _know_ how impossible keeping secrets in our team is. Why did you think this was going to be any different?"

Put like that, Fernando feels a bit like an idiot. "But no one _said_ anything," he says, weakly. His hands are wrapped around his coffee cup and he barely notices when the waitress drops off the soup, leaving it to Xabi to be polite and tell her thank you for the both of them. "Yeah, we're shit at keeping secrets, Xabi, that's the point. I expected teasing when it got out, or someone telling me I was being an idiot, trying something with David, or comments in the dressing room. But no one said anything; I didn't think anyone knew."

"You and David had been dancing around each other since the moment you met," Xabi says bluntly. "I don't know when you fucked the first time, but I know it was before the Euros. Sergio and David got into a _huge_ fight the night before we went up against Russia, and, granted, there weren't a lot of us around to hear it but there were enough. We all knew about you two by the end of the group stage." Fernando feels miserable, must look it as well, because Xabi leans across the table and puts one hand over Fernando's. "Look, 'Nando. So we knew. What of it? It's not like we thought any less of you, of either of you. In fact," he says, trailing off.

Fernando looks up at that, gives Xabi's grin an answering narrow-eyed glance. "In fact, what?" he asks, cautiously.

Xabi shrugs. "He's mellowed out -- not much, this is _David_ , after all, but noticeably -- since the two of you got together. A couple of the guys thought about sending you a thank you present."

Fernando snorts. Xabi pats his hand once more, then lets go and picks up his spoon, tasting the soup. He hums in approval, eats a little faster than Fernando, who's thinking so hard that he barely tastes the second bowl. 

"Maybe I overreacted," Fernando says. Xabi glances up at him, head tilted as if to say, _you think_? "Okay, I overreacted. But. He didn't. He knew that everyone else knew. And he never told me, and then, after Cesc and Wembley, I thought maybe things would change." 

"So you're disappointed that he's being the same old David he's always been?" Xabi asks, putting his spoon down. "Fernando." 

Fernando huffs, looks down at the table. "Putting it like that, it sounds stupid, right? But before, I thought he was doing it to keep the secret. Now, it's like I'm." Fernando stops there, picks at the table with one fingernail. 

Xabi sighs, says, "He's not ashamed of you, Fernando." 

Trust Xabi to get at the root of what Fernando's feeling, so quickly, like it's nothing. 

"How do you know?" Fernando asks, quietly. "What has he done to make you so sure of that?" 

"Fernando, it took _four people_ to hold him back from coming to find you," Xabi says. "He worries about you, constantly. He talks about you, constantly. He stood up to Pep Guardiola to go and see you, and he's done the same with Quiqui, del Bosque, and Aragonés. Fernando," Xabi says, leaning forward, making sure Fernando's looking at him before going on. "Fernando, David's a dick and he can be a real bastard, we all know that. But he cares for you, more than any of us ever thought possible." 

Fernando searches Xabi's eyes, looking for a lie or an exaggeration, anything that might say Xabi's not being entirely honest with him. Fernando doesn't find anything except belief, that and a need for Fernando to trust him. 

They've been friends too long for Fernando _not_ to trust him. 

"We've been, y'know, whatever, since 2006," Fernando says. Xabi looks stunned. "We've had our off moments, months, really, but. Yeah. 2006." 

"Since the German World Cup," Xabi breathes. "2006. That's. Fernando, that's _years_. What on earth were you hoping to get my advice about?" 

Fernando shifts, looks down at the table as he shrugs one shoulder. "You and Stevie manage the long-distance thing well. And you've, you know. For years." He pauses, takes a deep breath. "Sometimes I don't think David likes that he's in Spain and I'm in England. And since he started playing for Barcelona, I think. I mean, there are so many. But I'm." Fernando gives up his search for the words to express what he's been thinking, what's he been feeling; he just trails off and shrugs again. 

"If you think," David says, and Fernando's eyes widen as he turns to take in the picture David makes, standing there backlit by the rays of afternoon sun streaming through the glass, looking rumpled and exhausted but sporting the most epic bitchface Fernando has ever seen, "for one second, that I would throw away all the years I have spent making you into _my_ Fernando fucking Torres, just to get with one of the Barça B kids? Then either I have done a piss-poor job with you or all that bleach you use on your hair has gone straight to your brain. Fuck you, Fernando. Fuck you, and fuck this, and just -- and just, _fuck_." 

It's never a good sign when David calls Fernando by name, but Fernando doesn't care, especially not when Xabi slides out of his booth, murmuring something about paying the waitress before he flees. David is standing right there, _right there_ , and he looks as if he ran here, cursing the entire way. 

"Then why do you act like you're ashamed of me?" Fernando asks back, a bite in his tone. "Am I your bit on the side, your dirty little secret -- not that it's a secret, apparently. Why, David? Why couldn't you even say hi to me at the airport? Why couldn't you _nod_ at me on the bus? Why did you have to break into my hotel room and wait for me there instead of going up with me, huh?" 

David looks furious and just as he opens his mouth to answer, no doubt with some spite-filled vitriol, the waitress comes up and beams at David, asks, "Are you joining your friend here?" 

With a look dripping of disdain, David tells her, "Leave us alone." 

She says, "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't speak Spanish," and glances at Fernando, one eyebrow raised, because she's heard him speaking Spanish to Xabi and she's talked to him in English; Fernando will able to translate. 

"She wants to know if you're going to sit down or not," Fernando tells David. "She doesn't speak Spanish, so she has no idea what you said, but she heard the tone." Fernando's speaking cautiously; he doesn't trust David's reactions, but he doesn't trust his own, either. 

David gives Fernando a narrow-eyed glare, baring his teeth just a little. "She can leave us the _fuck_ alone."

This time, Fernando doesn't even have time to translate. The waitress stares at David until he turns to look at her; Fernando thinks she's one of the bravest people he's ever met, especially when she meets David's eyes without flinching. She points at the booth across from Fernando, then makes a shooing gesture, standing there with one eyebrow raised until David moves. He's glaring, but he sits down. 

"Tell the woman to go away," David says, his arms crossed. He's frowning, almost glaring, but it's like all the heat has gone out of him. 

If he was being honest with himself, Fernando would have to admit that he's not sure he likes David without the attitude. "Sorry about this," he tells her, sighing. "I wasn't expecting him to find me. If you could please get him a glass of water, when you have time?" 

She turns her gaze on Fernando and he thinks that she must have kids because she has the mum look down well enough to make David sit and to make Fernando feel guilty for bringing his shit into her diner in the first place. 

"No ice," she says. "And it's not going to be cold, just in case he throws it in your face. But if he does, he's out of here. Got it?" 

"Got it," Fernando tells her. 

She looks at him one moment longer, then nods and disappears towards the counter. 

"What a fucking bitch," David mutters. Fernando turns the full force of his strongest glare on David, who meets it and then shrugs. "What? She _works_ here. I don't know what she said to you but I can guess." 

Fernando sighs and resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, the way Ancelotti did during practice sometimes. "Why are you here, David?" 

"Have you eaten something?" David asks in reply. "Because you're fucking skin and bones as it is, and you didn't eat anything on the plane. You'll pass out during practice later if you haven't eaten." 

"Two bowls of soup," Fernando says. "Why are you here?" 

David gives the empty soup bowl in front of Fernando a skeptical look but must deem it acceptable enough. "You haven't slept, either. Half the team looked dead on their feet by the time we got off the plane and everyone either slept on the bus or at the hotel. How long have you been awake?" 

Fernando takes a deep breath in and lets it out slowly. "I got some rest on the plane, David, and I slept for a few hours at the hotel, until Xabi got back. Why are you here?"

"Because you're being an idiot," David finally says, after he huffs and glares at Fernando for a handful of seconds. "You _should_ be at the hotel, getting ready for our team dinner tonight. You _should_ have taken a nap this afternoon and eaten a real lunch instead of some shit these Americans call soup. You _should_ be acting like a fucking adult, Fernando, not sending half the team into a panic when no can find you." 

"I'm not being -- you know what, _whatever_ ," Fernando says, starting to argue but giving up almost immediately. It's not worth it. It hardly ever is. "How did you find me?" 

"Xabi found you," David replies. "Saw you from outside and called me before he came in. Fuck, you couldn't even get a seat away from the window? What if someone had seen you and called the press? You would have been here by yourself, without backup, and I know you listened to the lectures about that at the last meet-up."

Before he can stop himself, Fernando mutters, "Because you're paying _so_ much attention to me." 

David leans across the table and pushes Fernando's chin up with one finger. It's not a soft gesture and David's nail digs into Fernando's skin, deep enough to leave an imprint. "Grow up, _niño_. The world does not revolve around you, no matter how much you think it should." 

In a low, quiet tone of voice that still somehow manages to be as hard as diamond, Fernando says, "Ditto, _guaje_." 

\--

They both lean back in their seats, watching each other. David's look isn't a pure glare or a pure frown; it's somehow a combination of the two, with some condescension and disgust thrown in as well. Fernando's not sure what expression he has on his own face but it probably isn't any prettier. 

The waitress comes back, sets down a glass of water in front of David with a thump and then walks away without saying a word. 

"Fucking Americans," David mutters. 

Fernando nearly growls. "That woman has been nothing but nice to me since the moment I walked in here," he says flatly. "Just because you're an asshole." 

"Yeah," David says, cutting him off. "I'm an asshole. So? I've _always_ been an asshole. You can ask my mother, she'll say the same thing. But you knew that. You've always known that. What did you expect?" 

"I never told our friends," Fernando says, after a moment. He's calmer, now that he's heard David's admission -- reminder, really. "I never knew that every single of one them knew. I don't like having to keep secrets from them, especially when I'm the only one of us treating it like a secret." 

David snorts. "It's not my fault your little gypsy found out," he says. "And it's not my fault he decided to bring it up in front of our teammates. So they know. What difference does it make?" 

Fernando narrows his eyes, but this time in thoughtful confusion, not anger. "Why didn't you say hello at the airport?" David doesn't answer right away, so Fernando prompts him, says, " _Guaje_?" 

At the nickname, David gives Fernando a searching look, then fixes his eyes on a point over Fernando's shoulder when he replies. "I wouldn't have been able to stop." Fernando shakes his head; he has no idea what that's supposed to mean and says as much. "I wanted to fuck you," David says, point-blank, though he's still not meeting Fernando's gaze. "I wanted to mark you up. They all know, fine, but I want them to _know_. I don't want anyone getting ideas."

Fernando gapes, can't help it. "You didn't say hi because you wanted to have _sex_? In what universe does shit like that even make sense?" 

"I would have said hello," David says. "And you would have smiled at me. And I can't." He stops, shakes his head. "Forget it. Forget I said anything, and just, and just, whatever, fuck it." 

David slides out of the booth and heads for the door. Fernando's too stunned to react immediately, but when his brain kick-starts again, he gets up, leaves all the money he has on the table and starts chasing after David. 

The waitress calls out after him but Fernando doesn't stop, doesn't even know what she said. He's too intent on finding David, though he's not sure what he's going to do once he finds David. Fernando wants to punch him, or kiss him, or go to his knees and suck David's brain out through his dick, maybe. 

David hasn't gotten too far ahead; Fernando jogs to catch up and then puts a hand on David's shoulder, forces David to turn around and look at him. 

"You, _guaje_ ," he says, "are an asshole." 

"Yeah?" David says, one eyebrow raised and a hard look in his eyes. "Your point?" 

Fernando grins and says, " _My_ asshole. Race you back to the hotel!" He takes off in a sprint, heading in the general direction of the hotel. "If I beat you, I'm topping!" he yells out, over his shoulder. 

"Fuck that," David calls back, and starts to run as well. 

\--

They're neck-and-neck down the street and they burst through the front doors at the same time. Fernando bends over, puts his hands on his knees, and catches his breath; it wasn't a long run, and he's in good shape, but he just ran full-out for a good seven blocks, he's allowed to be out of breath. 

David does the same but he stands up quicker and smacks Fernando on the back of the head. "Room," he says. "Now." 

"We tied," Fernando says, but he straightens up, glances around the hotel lobby to see a few of their teammates watching them with wide eyes. 

David follows Fernando's gaze, glares at their teammates and everyone else before giving them all the finger and dragging Fernando to an elevator. "If I fuck you against the wall, then no one's on top," David growls. "We'll be standing up." 

Fernando's hard, instantly. 

\--

They stand on opposite sides of the elevator. When it gets to the right floor, Fernando gets off first and nearly runs into Xabi, who's standing with Sergio. Fernando gives Xabi a bright smile but moves around the pair, heading for his room. 

"Thanks for the talk, Xabi," Fernando says over his shoulder. "It definitely helped. And, uh. You may not want to come in the room for, for anytime soon." 

David's following Fernando, close enough that Fernando can feel the heat of David's body, hear David breathing. It's close, too close for observers, but it's enough to reassure Fernando and enough to make sure he's aching for more, for closer, until they're pressed up against each other without any space between them. 

"He needs to be able to move tomorrow," Sergio calls out. "Villa! Did you hear me?" 

Fernando gets to his room, uses the key-card to open the door. He slips inside and David's right behind him, even as Sergio's still yelling. 

\--

The door's barely closed before David has Fernando pressed against the wall, biting into his mouth, fingers pressing bruises into Fernando's hips. 

"Want you," David's murmuring as he leaves his marks all over Fernando's neck. "Want to fuck you so much, _niño_ , all the time." He looks up, bares his teeth, and says, "Want them to know." 

That, more than anything else, has Fernando rushing to get naked, hands fumbling with his jeans before he finally undoes his jeans and starts to work on David's belt. He needs to be skin-to-skin with David, needs David inside of him, _now_.

David won't back away enough for Fernando to take off his shirt, so he pushes David and in the few seconds when David's stumbling backwards, outrage growing on his face, Fernando rips his shirt over his head and kicks off his jeans. He expects David to come right back and is wholly unprepared for David to stand there, looking up and down Fernando's body. Instead of heat in his eyes, David looks furious -- and, under that, concerned.

"You're still not sleeping," David says. "Or eating. You don't look any fucking better than when I saw you in London. Actually, you look _worse_." 

Fernando groans, says, "Are we really going to do this _now_? _Guaje_ , _please_."

He reaches out, meaning to pull David back closer, but David bats his hands away and folds his arms across his chest. Fernando sighs, lets his head thump back against the wall. He can feel his erection dying, a combination of cold hotel air and disappointment. 

"Fine," Fernando says. "What do you want me to tell you? Leo's still not sleeping through the night and sometimes he wakes up Nora. Olalla's exhausted by the time she gets to bed in the evening so I get up with the kids at night and let her sleep. I'm a _dad_ , _guaje_ , you should know what it's like. We make sacrifices for our children." 

"If you don't take care of yourself, you're no good to them," David says. Fernando flinches, because David's only saying the truth and the truth, this time, hurts. David sees it and something in his eyes changes, darkening. "It's a damn good thing I'm here to make sure you don't do anything stupid for the next few days," David mutters. 

Fernando snorts, says, "Oh, because you've done _such_ a bang-up job already." 

David flies into motion, pushing Fernando back against the wall hard enough that the door shakes and someone next door yells. His hands are on Fernando's arms, pressing hard and holding Fernando to the wall. "It's not like I asked you to be such a little bitch," David hisses. 

Fernando sneers, says, "It's not like I asked you to." 

He doesn't have a chance to finish his statement. David's kissing him again, but there's nothing gentle about it. The kiss is all teeth and force, stealing Fernando's words and breath right out of his mouth. Fernando doesn't break the kiss but he does wrest his arms away from David's grip, hands reaching under David's shirt and drawing nails down David's chest. 

David's the one who moves away, cursing as he lifts his shirt and studies the ten raised white lines that stretch from nipples to hips. Four of them are already bleeding, little pinprick drops of red against David's skin. 

David looks at Fernando, who lifts his chin in defiance of whatever David might be thinking or might say. He doesn't care; it's always been rough between them even though there's something beneath it. Fernando doesn't dare call it love, because love would never make his chest ache like it does when he stares at David. Love would never make him want to kill people who touch David like they have the right and love would certainly never take a vicious amount of pride in making David bleed the way he is now.

Fernando settles his weight in anticipation for a comeback but David just takes his shirt off and then his jeans, until he's just as naked as Fernando, dick jutting up, hard and ready. 

"Ready, _niño_?" David asks, cocky smirk on his face. 

Fernando returns David's smirk with one of his own. "Bring it, _guaje_." 

\--

This time they crash into each other. David's nails scrape down Fernando's sides and then his fingers dig in deep to Fernando's hips. Fernando's arms wrap around David's neck and he catches his nails on the curves of David's shoulderblades. They kiss; first David pushes Fernando back against the wall, then Fernando fights, the two of them reeling in circles as they cling to each other. 

They fall down and Fernando lands on his back, David on top of him. Fernando pushes David to get off but that just lines up their cocks next to each other and Fernando groans, arches his back, as David swears. They rut against one another and when David yanks Fernando's head back by the hair, Fernando leans forward, latches his teeth on to David's collarbone and bites down _hard_. 

David pulls back with a hiss, practically ripping his skin out of Fernando's mouth, and moves down Fernando's body, sitting on Fernando's legs so he can bite his way across Fernando's chest. 

Fernando's head is spinning and he tries to get out from underneath David but can't, not with the weight of David on his legs and David's teeth all over him. David bites the tender skin of Fernando's belly and Fernando moans, trying to arch his back, trying to get friction, trying to get _anything_ more than this. 

"Like that?" David asks, and before Fernando can glare, David bends down and leaves an imprint of his teeth on Fernando's hip. 

Fernando howls; the skin there is thin, stretched tight, already bruised. "Fuck," he gasps. "Jesus fuck, _guaje_." 

"Roll over," David says. 

"We're not fucking on the floor," Fernando snaps back. He can already tell he's getting carpet burn on his ass; the carpet's thin, worn here next to the door. Fernando tries again to dislodge David but the fucker doesn't move and is still glaring down at Fernando. Fernando narrows his eyes, says, "You said the wall, _guaje_. I want you to fuck me against the wall." 

It's clear that David's weighing his options but he eventually stands up and offers Fernando a hand, all without speaking. Fernando doesn't trust that but he does trust David, so he takes the hand and isn't all the surprised when, after David pulls him, he's pushed face-first to the wall. 

"Spread your legs, _niño_ , and keep your hands on the goddamn wall," David says, breathing right into Fernando's ear before biting at the meat of Fernando's shoulder. 

Fernando does as directed and resists the urge to look over his shoulder where David's rummaging through Fernando's bag. Fernando licks his lips, says, "There's condoms in the shower kit," because there's drawing things out and then there's wasting time, and he knows the difference between the two. 

"Lube?" David asks. 

Fernando closes his eyes and says, "Didn't bring any."

He can hear David coming back over to him, hears the crinkle of the condom wrapper being opened, and a moment later, feels fingers pressing insistently at his mouth. Fernando parts his lips, sucks at David's fingers and leaves them gleaming with saliva when David pulls them back. 

It's going to sting, just using saliva, but they've done it before and Fernando's desperate to be fucked, adrenaline riding high but not as high as the need to have David in him _now_. 

David works the first finger in and it hurts, _fuck_ , but then David reaches around and starts to stroke Fernando's dick in time to the finger in his ass. Fernando spreads his legs wider, arches more, and rests his forehead against the wall. 

Fernando's entire body is a mass of aches and pains, bruised all over and jarred from the collisions, first from the wall, then the floor. The finger working itself in and out of him is one more ache but it's the best one, and even when David starts using two to stretch him, Fernando's hips are moving, forward into David's hand and backwards onto David's fingers. 

"More," Fernando demands, hands curling on the wall and fingers scraping across the paint. " _More_ , _guaje_." 

"You're such a fucking impatient child," David mutters. "You're not ready."

Fernando growls wordlessly and clenches his ass around David's fingers. David yanks his fingers out and the moment Fernando relaxes, he tries to put three right back in Fernando's hole. 

It stings. It hurts. It's fucking painful. Fernando loves it. A shiver runs down his spine and his cock jerks in David's hand, pre-come beading at the tip. 

"Fine," David says. "But if your precious Ramos comes crying to me tomorrow about how you're hobbling around the pitch." 

"Shut up," Fernando says. "Just, god, _please_ fucking shut up and fuck me already or I'll start to think you're never going to. I need to find someone else?" 

_That_ makes David growl. He takes his hands back, pulls Fernando's hips back even further, and then starts to work his dick inside of Fernando. The condom's lubed and Fernando's been stretched a little, but the lube's barely enough and the stretching wasn't much more than that either. He breathes slowly until David's all the way in and standing still to give Fernando a chance to get used to the intrusion. 

Fernando feels sweat start to trickle on his neck; he takes one hand off the wall and moves his hair to the side. David leans forward, cock moving; Fernando groans and then he feels David licking up the sweat from his neck, his back, before dragging his teeth down Fernando's neck. 

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Fernando murmurs, eyes wide.

"I'm tempted to say no," David says, "but since I'm already here," and he starts to move. 

\--

It doesn't take that long for Fernando to come; he's been aching for this since the roster was named and everything today, from the airport to the hotel to the diner and back, has been it's own kind of foreplay. His head's still spinning and every time David moves, David makes sure to press his fingers on one of the bruises or bitemarks scattered over Fernando's skin. The mix of pleasure and pain is heady at first but quickly grows unmanagable. Fernando's not even that aware he's reached orgasm until David pulls out of him and Fernando staggers, brushes up against a wet spot on the wall. 

He doesn't fight as David drags him to the bed and practically throws him down, and when David fucks him again, this time they're facing each other, one of Fernando's legs over David's shoulder. Fernando's dazed and the look in David's eyes doesn't help, dark with possession and lust but with a gleam of something to them that Fernando can't name. It's close to need, he thinks, but that's stupid. David doesn't need anyone. 

" _Niño_ ," David says, as his rhythm stutters and he fucks in short, quick strokes that are desperate. " _Mi niño_." 

Fernando can't help himself, hearing that. "Yeah," he says, and leans up a little, just enough to trace David's lips with his thumb. 

David stares at him, then throws his head back and comes, Fernando's name on his breath. 

\--

Fernando's exhausted but he keeps his eyes open, wincing as David pulls out and watching as David ties off the condom and tosses it in the bin. Fernando doesn't move, probably couldn't even if his life depended on it. 

David's standing at the foot of the bed and it looks as if he's clearly debating whether he should go or stay. 

"Xabi won't come back," Fernando says. It's a statement, nothing more; he won't ask David to stay because the answer will probably be no. "He'll stay away until you leave."

"I wonder if they'd let me and him switch rooms," David says. Fernando's eyes narrow; they've never shared rooms before, never even thought about it. What does it mean that David's considering it now? "With me here, you'd sleep, and I don't like the idea of you rooming with anyone else." 

Fernando snorts. It's just David being possessive, then, he thinks, nothing more serious -- but then David sighs and flops onto the bed next to Fernando, lying on his side and leaning up on one elbow. He reaches out, runs his nails down Fernando's cheek, just a light scratch, before his hand moves down, tracing lines of Fernando's neck. 

"We should fight more often," David murmurs, running his fingers over the ragged bruises all over Fernando's chest. It's a curious sort of quiet gentleness; Fernando's seen a few glimpses of it from David over the years, but each time the display sends an ache rocketing through Fernando's body, sinking in deep, laying claim to skin and muscle and bone the way David came in and claimed something much deeper, once, a long time ago. Sometimes Fernando wishes there was more of himself to give but no doubt that would have been David's years and years ago already as well. 

"I hate fighting with you," Fernando says, yawning. "It's always awful." David hums, pushes his fingers into a particularly large bitemark on Fernando's hip like a kind of remonstration. "But the make-up sex is good. Really good." He doesn't need to look at David to know David's smug and smirking; Fernando wants to elbow David but he's comfortable and so he settles for rolling his eyes instead. 

David's fingers, tracing over the scratches on Fernando's side, pause for a moment, then glide over the wounds, softer than before. "So," he says. "Just to be clear. I'm going to be more possessive of you, in front of everyone. That's what you want." 

Fernando turns his head to meet David's eyes. He smiles, a little, and says, "You don't share, David." 

"Damn straight," David mutters. 

\--

They shower and change and go downstairs for dinner, only ten minutes late. Fernando's wearing a t-shirt; he flushes when the hotel staff see him and then notice the bruises scattered up and down his arms, black and blue and red marks standing out against his pale skin. David throws a smirk at every single person they pass.

They pause in the entrance to the dining room. Round tables set up for five people apiece fill the room, surrounded by the usual cliques; there are two empty seats at the table with Sergio, Iker, and Xabi, and two empty seats at the table where Andres, Victor, and Pepe are sitting, gossiping like old ladies. 

The pair scope out the open seats and then David turns to Fernando and says, "In front of everyone," with a question in his voice. 

Even this morning, they would have split up without a word, Fernando to sit with Sergio and David over with Pepe, but not now. Everything's out in the open now and Fernando has butterflies in his stomach but he smiles as he nods because David asked, _again_.

"Good," David says. He grabs Fernando's belt and drags him across the room towards Pepe, taking the longest route possible. One by one, their teammates look at them, one or two smirking when they see the bruises, a few smiling. Llorente lets out a muttered curse and David bares his teeth in Llorente's direction. They go past the table where Sergio's sitting; Sergio stands up, blocks David's way. 

"'Nando," Sergio says, and then is startled into silence by David's growl. 

Fernando rests his chin on David's shoulder, grinning at Sergio. "He's an asshole, Sese," he says, and rolls his eyes when David mutters something about idiotic nicknames and people with long hair having no brains. "But he's _my_ asshole." 

Sergio holds Fernando's gaze, finally asks, "Are you all right? It sounded like." He stops abruptly; Fernando can't see the look on David's face but he can well imagine it. 

"Fucker has sharp teeth," Fernando says. David elbows him in the gut and Fernando adds, making a face, "I bit him first, though. I _guess_ payback's fair enough." 

A light flush covers Sergio's cheeks and he mutters, "Way more than I needed to know."

Fernando knows, just _knows_ that David's getting ready to say something to that, so he speaks first, asks Sergio, "We'll talk later?" 

Sergio sighs and -- grudgingly -- nods. "Yeah, we will," he says. "I think we're overdue for a talk." 

David's had enough of this; Fernando's close enough to feel his muscles ready to move so he's not taken off-guard when David brushes past Sergio, pulling Fernando along with him. Fernando looks back, sees Sergio staring after him, Xabi giving him a thumb's up, and Iker sitting there pinching the bridge of his nose and looking like he'd rather deal with anything other than the show David's putting on. 

"The lads at Liverpool would never believe anyone could tame Fernando Torres," Pepe says, when the pair of strikers finally sit down in the two empty chairs between Andres and Pepe. Victor and Andres are both smiling so wide that it's a miracle their faces haven't split open. Pepe is waggling his eyebrows up and down. Fernando wants to groan, knowing a Pepe-style interrogation is coming, but he reaches out, grabs the glass of water and takes a sip instead. 

David grins, pulls the collar of his shirt over to reveal the huge bitemark right over his collarbone, still dotted with little spots of blood where Fernando's teeth broke the skin. "He gives as good as he gets," David says, then adds, not looking at Fernando, "Well. He tries, at least." 

Fernando swats at David with his napkin and David retaliates by pulling Fernando's chair closer and then putting his arm across the back of it. Fernando knows that it's a clear symbol and screams that David Villa has claimed him, which means, knowing that David is possessive and territorial, that David has no intention of letting anyone else so much as _look_ at Fernando without some kind of retaliation heading their way. 

Fernando smiles at Pepe, licks his teeth, and shifts in his chair, resting his head on David's shoulder. 

Let their teammates make of _that_ whatever they want; Fernando's not moving any time soon.


End file.
